Reluctant to Follow
by Calamitatum
Summary: Historical AU. Oneshot. For as long as he can remember Corporal Matthew Williams has watched war tear people apart. His family, his friends, himself. But what if one day it did the one thing he never thought it could? Reunited him. With... the enemy?


**AN: *Cheers* Yay, my first fanfiction! It's always been a dream of mine to write something I don't think is total shit and actually have the guts to let the public read it! Huh, well. I guess I should probably mention that this was written for school, 'cause I had to write a short story about war. So, being the devoted fangirl that I am, I immediately thought of Hetalia and all the awesomeness it entitles! So, uh, I wrote this. Anyways, I tried, and even if it sucks, **_**please**_** review and tell me it sucks. Please. Seriously. Do it. My feelings won't get hurt. I promise. Just review it. You know you want to.**

**Disclaimer: Ahahahah, yeah, as if I'd own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Language (They are soldiers, after all), a bit of violence and maybe a bit of gore near the end.**

The time was April 1945. The world was nearing the end of what could only be described as the most horrific war ever fought, and many were still fighting. Corporal Matthew Williams of the Canadian Military Forces sat solemnly, deep in thought upon the cold, crudely chopped tree stump beneath him. He shivered, sniffling loudly as the harsh, early morning April wind bit against his bare face, leaning forward and hunching his shoulders to shield himself from the weather. Fingerless gloves adjusted tightly around a steaming tin mug of poorly made coffee, glad for the slight heat it provided. Eyes flickered down momentarily to the Lee-Enfield 303 he already knew leaned just within arm's reach, propped up against the same stump he sat on. Times like these, a soldier never went anywhere without some kind of weapon, just in case.

He lifted his gaze again, expertly trained azure eyes scanning the uneven, hilled horizon of the endless wild grass field stretched out before him, just making out the slight lightening over the horizon in the distance through the dark, starry sky. The makeshift base of hastily thrown about tents in their tight, defensive formation around him, the unfamiliar European forest they would be traveling through for the duration of this invasion at his back.

Twigs snapped and leaves crunched under the heavy footfalls of the few, already up and about Allied soldiers. Hushed and muffled voices accompanied by movement and the occasional rustle of blankets or clothing drifted from a-many of the tents around him. Long unsettling shadows from a just-rising sun were cast across the camp, surrounding Matthew and making his dirty, unshaven face, flushed from the cold weather and worn from battle as it already was, appear even worse for wear. This much was voiced by his friend, American soldier, Corporal Alfred F. Jones.

"You look horrible." He yawned his first welcoming words of the day as he exited the housing tent to Matthew's left. Corporal Williams snorted, grunting a sarcastic thanks to the younger man, watching as he turned without another word and trudged away, entering the tent where the majority of the invading troop's firearms were stored. Matthew watched him go, eyebrow raised in an amused curiosity, questioning his friend's motives. After a moment he sighed, shaking his head with the slightest shadow of a smile flickering across his tired features.  
>"Americans."<p>

_The edge of the mattress dipped under the weight of his father, the wooden bed frame creaking, causing seven-year-old Matthew to glance up from the small book he'd been squinting at impatiently for the past half hour. His father watched him in the low light of the single candle on Matthew's bedside table as the boy's expression shifted out of its scowl and stared, wide-eyed back up at his father's face. Warm green eyes and a kind smile framed by newly cropped army-short hair._

_Matthew spoke, his young voice set with stubborn determination. "I'm learning how to read," he explained, holding up the book in his hands. "That way when you send us letters this time, Ma' won't have to read them out loud anymore." he sat up, scooting closer to his father. "They make her cry." he added quietly._

_His father, Arthur, reached out silently, wrapping his arms around his son in a loving, protective gesture. Smaller hands wound their way around much larger shoulders; fingers twisting into the shirt on his father's back like his life depended on it._

_"That's very thoughtful of you," Arthur whispered into his son's neck, feeling a warm sort of pride spreading inside his chest. "Your mother's going to need lots of extra help with things around the house from now on and I want you to take care of her for me. You're the man of the house now, Matthew. You've got to protect the ones you love." _

_"Well, what about you?" Matthew asked, releasing his father and leaning back to look him in the eyes; pure, innocent curiosity displayed on small round features. "How can I protect you if you're leaving?" He honestly believed there to be a way he would be able to shield his father from what was sure to come. _

_Arthur let out a dry chuckle, which rang through the still night's air like the tinkling of tiny bells. He stood from the bed and kneeled down on the floor beside his son. He took the small child's hands in his own and gave a reassuring squeeze. _

_"Don't worry about me, Matthew," he smiled sadly. "I'll be fine. I promise."_

_And Matthew had believed him._

Corporal Williams blinked, snapping himself out of his temporary daze.

_Where the hell did that memory come from?_

He looked up, slightly startled when he found himself seated in a brighter, much busier camp than he last recalled.

"Williams?" Matthew blinked again, suddenly noticing for the first time that Corporal Jones had returned and was standing before him, a concerned look on his face, two fully loaded Winchester Model 12s in his hands.

"Yeah?" Matthew responded instinctively, suddenly glad Alfred was a friend and not a superior, and didn't have to be addressed as _Major General Jones, Sir _or anything with an equally long title.

"You okay, Matt?" he asked, lowering his voice with concern.

"Yeah," Matthew repeated, wondering how out-of-it he must have looked and again, why he had suddenly been thinking of one of the last times he'd ever seen his father. "I'm fine," he assured, "just thinking." He shrugged, nonchalantly, leaning forward to get up.

He had been thinking of his dad a lot lately. Hell, the man had been the very reason Matthew had decided to join the forces, after his father's own death in the Great War. It really wasn't a surprise he'd be thinking of him now, in such violent, dire times. The same kind of times Matthew's father never made it home from. Before he could stand up, Alfred beat him to it, crouching down to eye level beside his friend and promptly exchanging Matthew's gun with one of the newer Model 12s he'd brought over.

"About what?" he asked, not quite meeting his eye.

Matthew glanced down momentarily and closed his eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink, wondering where exactly this was going. Opening them again, he eyed the mug of now cold coffee he hadn't realized he was still holding. "My dad," he finally replied.

Alfred hesitated, aware of the situation with Matthew's late father. Then he too looked away, and after a moment he spoke, "He'd be proud, Matt," he paused, shifting awkwardly. "Especially now, when we're finally going to do some good. Saving lives, instead of just taking them."

Matthew breathed out a small smile, finally looking back up "I know," he whispered.

_"Papa?" a young Matthew asked tentatively, shifting from foot to foot. Arthur glanced down at his child kindly, who in turn, was squinting back up at him in the bright mid-day sun, eyes a color to match the summer sky brimming with tears. _

_He looked so handsome, so proper in his checkered and pressed suit, made especially for the occasion. The cool, costal breeze coming off the Atlantic ruffled his too-long hair, which shimmered in the bright natural light. Neatly folded hands fidgeted as he bit his lip nervously. Somewhere, in the distance of the busy dock, a long, melancholy boat horn sounded. All around them on the harbor's dock people bustled about, family and friends desperate to have one last moment to spend with their loved ones before they bid them farewell. Matthew recognized a good number of them. Neighbors, school-mates, the local shopkeeper and his wife; the Millers hugged, the Bakers waved, a young girl from Matthew's grade clung to the shoulders of her tall father as he lifted her for one last hug. _

_Matthew swallowed; afraid he'd start crying in front of the kids from school. "Do you have to go?" he whispered, just loud enough for his father to hear._

_Arthur paused, choosing his words carefully. "I do, Matthew. And as much as I wish that I didn't have to leave you and your mother behind, I know I have to."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because it's the right thing to do." Arthur bent down, clasping his hands on the young boy's shoulders. "Because there are innocent people out there, men and women, young and old, being hurt and controlled and killed because of a few very bad people. And it's our job, not as soldiers, but as conscious human beings, to stop those bad people, and to protect and save the lives of those innocent ones. That's why I'm going. That's what I'm fighting for. And no matter how many oceans separate us, and no matter how dangerous it may be, it's the right thing to do."_

"I know he would."

xxx

Moving out later that day, Matthew was somewhat upset upon hearing what the majority of his fellow soldiers were saying.

"Damn Nazis finally gonna' get what's coming to 'em. How 'bout we send _their_ children to the gas chambers, see how they like it!" one particularly loud Private had been boasting all day, occasionally throwing in some more _creative_ adjectives to describe the enemy.

"Let's strip them of their clothes, beat them with their own guns, and set hungry dogs on them!" another shouted as engines revved and weapons were loaded.

"Maybe throw a couple thousand German in a 'brick factory' for a few decades." came a laugh from somewhere in the back of the line as soldiers heaved heavy bags up onto muscular shoulders.

Matthew huffed, pursing his lips and making his way to the farthest army van he could find before climbing in, not wanting to hear any more.

Okay, yes, Nazis were bad. And absolutely, what they were doing was horrendous and evil and just plain wrong. But that didn't necessarily mean that _every single _German citizen out there deserved to suffer a horrible fate, and certainly not their _children_. And today's invasion wasn't even supposed to be about that anyway, their mission today was one of liberation, not cold-blooded massacre. Their troop had been sent out behind enemy lines to free a nearby concentration and labor camp. And yes, there would probably be Nazis there and yes, they would probably have to take them down, but did those guys really have to relate everything they did back to killing and maiming Germans? Matthew sighed as the engines roared to life around him. He knew he really shouldn't have been thinking like this, but it was hard when his very own best friend used to be German.

_"Hey," Matthew greeted calmly, a small grin tugging at his lips as he watched the young, clearly overwhelmed European boy make his way towards him across the crowded station platform. Folding the paper upon which the makeshift German 'greeting sign' was written, he strode forward, tucking it under his arm as he met him halfway. Leaning over to help the kid with his heavy bags, their hands brushed and they both looked up, making eye contact for the first time. "Ludwig, right?"_

_The boy nodded._

_"I'm Matthew. You can call me Matt," _

_Another nod._

_"You'll be staying at my place for the exchange, then." he stated, trying to start a conversation._

_Ludwig finally smiled, as they began to walk away. "Funny," he commented simply. "You sound normal enough. I had been warned to expect much more talk of polar bears and maple trees." he mocked, his voice slipping in its accent. "Eh?" _

_Matthew laughed._

_xxx_

_Matthew rounded the corner of the high school's west wing, smiling when he spotted Ludwig at the other end of the hallway, books under his arms, head leaned over, too preoccupied with opening their shared locker to notice his Canadian friend approaching._

_"Hey, Ludwig!" Matthew called._

_The older blonde looked up, stereotypical sparkling blue eyes blinking up at him in surprise. "Hello, Matt." he called back politely, still struggling enough with his English to not dare any slang yet._

_"So listen," Matthew began as he approached the locker, sliding his own textbooks out from under his arms and waiting for Ludwig to open it. "There's this hockey game going on tonight, and I was thinking, if you really want the full 'Canadian' experience, we should go together."_

_Ludwig grinned, glad for the invitation although he knew little to none about the sport itself, "You'll have to teach me who to cheer for." he said, neatly stacking his heavy textbooks on the top shelf._

_"Figures," Matthew replied, stepping forward to not-so-neatly shove his own books on top of Ludwig's. "So this is what, your third, fourth day in the 'Great White North'?"_

_"Fifth," Ludwig corrected. "The first night was spent at the airplane though, so I'm not sure if it counts, ja?"_

_"Right, right," Matthew slammed the locker shut, clicking the lock with one hand as he playfully jabbed his foreign friend. "Well tonight's gonna' be the best for sure."_

_xxx_

_The stadium erupted, half the crowd in deafening cheers and cries of joy, the other half in a series of boos and shouts of displeasure. The whole building was on its feet, Ludwig included, who despite not knowing what exactly had just happened, was dragged into a standing position by an ecstatic Matthew. He cheered anyways, for the Canadian's sake, assuming his favored team had just scored._

_Matthew's shouting rang loud in his ear even as the buzzer indicating the scoring of a goal started up overhead, confirming Ludwig's guess. The noise from the crowd was not lost in the buzzer, but rather was multiplied ten-fold to be heard over it._

_"Yeah! Woohoooo! Take that, bitches! Take __**that**__!" Matthew roared between laughs. He glanced over at Ludwig, face flushed, breaths coming in fast and shallow, a wild smile lighting up his face._

_Ludwig laughed, highly amused at how caught-up his usually fairly restrained friend had gotten into this game in only the short amount of time it had been going on. An announcement came on, a deep male voice informing the audience of the details of the goal. A name of a player Ludwig didn't catch was spoken and the entire stadium was caught in between a war of cheers and boos once again._

_Ludwig rolled his eyes, his voice so low it was impossible to hear over everything else. But somehow, Matthew caught it. _

_"Canadians."_

_xxx_

Saving lives. Freeing prisoners. Stopping the Nazis and the horrible crimes they were inflicting upon the innocent people they were so pointlessly hell-bent on exterminating. That is what this whole mission was about. That is why they were here, behind enemy lines, risking their lives.

That is what would make Matthew's late father proud, wherever he was.

And if he had to kill a couple of corrupted minds along in the way in order to achieve this goal, then so be it. But he swore to make it quick and painless and hate every second of it. For Ludwig.

xxx

Matthew swore loudly, his heart hammering against his quivering chest, equally shaky hands re-loading and cocking his pistol, once again wishing his Model 12 hadn't been blown out of his hands back during their raid of the guard tower. He dared a glance over his shoulder, peering around the housing building's brick wall he had taken cover behind when the shooting had started at his back. He wondered where the other members of his raiding squad were, and if they were okay, having also lost sight of them back at the tower. He started when he heard the unmistakable crack of a nearby shotgun ring out twice.

Pistol at the ready, back pressed flat against the crude brick, he glanced back and was surprised to find both of his would-be murderers lying motionless on the cold, wet ground. Matthew's breath hitched at the sight of deep red pooling in with the thick, sloshing mud around both men's face-down skulls. His eyes honed in on one specifically, the back of his head caved in, beautiful blond hair stained with gushing red and brown and - Matthew averted his eyes quickly, attempting to blink away the horrible image now burned into his memory. Looking up, he spotted his savior. Chest heaving, proudly worn American uniform splattered and torn, dirty blonde hair dripping, clinging to his face, an image of determination, distaste and disgust at the scene before him.

"Al." Corporal Williams felt himself breathe.

Alfred's gaze snapped up. His eyes widened noticeably with relief upon spotting Matthew, he lowered his weapon.

"Williams! Matt, what happened to you? I thought we lost you!" he ran forward, careful to avoid the mess of his victims at his feet.

"I got separated when they opened fire back at the guard tower," he quickly informed the other. "Sorry." Then, noticing he too was alone, asked, "Where's Braginski? Bonnefoy? Everyone else from our group?"

"They're already heading back, don't worry." Alfred assured.

"Back?"

"Yeah, our squad's been called back to help man the gate." Alfred informed, referring to the main gate on the northern side of the concentration complex, the one the Allies had already stormed and seized.

Matthew nodded again, turning back to the crumbling brick building.

"Right, let's go then!" He took off, the sound of a second pair of feet slapping quickly through the mud behind him told him Al was following.

Taking off at a fast-paced jog, the two men hurried, side by side, heartbeats thumping erratically, guns poised, both determined to make their way back to safety and shut out the faraway sounds of gunshots, commands being shouted, men and women crying and screaming for what could have been the final moments of their lives. Both failed horribly.

Rounding the corner of the building, time seemed to slow down for Matthew. From behind there was a shout of surprise, no doubt from Jones, and before him another. A command, being called in gruff German. Looking ahead he saw it had come from the tallest of three enemy soldiers standing a mere twenty feet away. Seeing the speaker was unarmed, and oddly enough so was the second man, Matthew's eyes locked with the third's. He stopped short, raising his pistol threateningly straight at… Ludwig.

Memories of times past spent with his foreign friend slammed into Matthew like a ton of brick. His eyes widened, his heart skipped, his finger tightened on the small piece of metal which could very well decide the simple question of whether or not his long-lost best friend would live or die.

In less than a second his head was filled with the echo of laughs and shouts and greetings and goodbyes, some spoken in English, others spoken in strange German words he couldn't understand but loved all the same. In that instant jokes were shared, playful punches and jabs thrown, parting hugs crushed together only to be separated too soon. And Matthew could hear, _God_, he could _hear _Ludwig's panicked and hammering heartbeat. He could _feel_ the German man's recognition, shock and anguish radiating off of him as his nearby helpless commanding officer roared at him, no doubt to shoot the two Allies.

Matthew's throat tightened in sudden panic, his mind jumping to an unthinkable conclusion as Ludwig shifted his grip on his gun, but Matthew found himself powerless to do the same.

_I can't do this. I absolutely cannot shoot my best friend._

Behind him, Jones seemed to have no such problem. He could hear the man's breathing, the raising and aiming of his gun and Matthew knew Al must have been less than a fraction of a second away from shooting, a fraction of a second away from killing Matt's best friend, thinking he was just another Nazi.

And then Ludwig spoke, his deep voice penetrated the still air so suddenly Matthew's heart jumped.

The reactions of the four men around Ludwig ranged from startled, to relieved, to suspicious, to betrayed, to confused, to enraged. The speaker however, was calm and controlled. His voice was stern and certain, as if giving a simple order.

"_Nein_," he denied the command to shoot.

His gun dropped to the ground with a light splash.

_That day, on the eleventh of April, 1945, the Allies successfully invaded and liberated Buchenwald, a German concentration and labor complex, saving and setting free over 21,000 prisoners including Jews, non-Jewish Poles, Slovenes, religious and political prisoners, Roma and Slinti, Jehovah's Witnesses, criminals, homosexuals and prisoners of war._

**AN: THANK YOU FOR READING MY CRAP. By the way, I'm not sure if the Canadians were actually there when they liberated Buchenwald, but screw that! A girl can dream!**

**Also! I have an awesome friend who did the same assignment as me and she wrote her story through LUDWIG'S POINT OF VIEW. (We blew up our teacher's mind with this awesomeness, man.) She's the most uber awesome person in the world and her story's really, really, really good, (she has this **_**uncanny**_** ability to right the most believable thoughts and internal monologues) so if you want to read it her name is Misery Rebel and her's is called Old Friends. **

**Thanks again, people!**


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